


For Greater Things

by Crazy_Dumpling



Category: 15th Century CE RPF
Genre: Florence - Freeform, Gen, Historical, Italy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-14
Updated: 2010-02-14
Packaged: 2017-10-07 06:25:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/62315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crazy_Dumpling/pseuds/Crazy_Dumpling
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lorenzo wants to settle Giuliano's future prospects, but he will need to convince his brother that it is in his best interests.</p>
            </blockquote>





	For Greater Things

**Author's Note:**

  * For [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).
  * Translation into Русский available: [О большем](https://archiveofourown.org/works/555093) by [llaudat](https://archiveofourown.org/users/llaudat/pseuds/llaudat)



> Given the pretty specific historical context for this fic, I have provided historical notes at the end of it.

_Florence, 1477_

It is a cold, clear day in January when the murderer is executed. Lorenzo is at the window on the upper floor of the Palazzo Medici, watching the ox-cart as it rattles down the street. The condemned man riding in it was found in the slums of the Oltrarno, soliciting young boys for sodomy, which was bad enough, but he had a nasty habit of killing them when he was done with the deed, which was unforgivable. So justice had been swiftly decided; the murderer is to have his flesh torn at with red-hot pincers whilst being driven to the place of execution outside the Palazzo della Signoria, in the centre of town. The man's cries can be heard some distance away, and Lorenzo squints to see further, though the cart has still some way to travel before he will be able to see it properly.

Just then, Giuliano comes to stand at his shoulder, unconcernedly munching an apple. Lorenzo flashes his younger brother a look of exasperation.

"Aren't you supposed to be checking the accounts for the mines at Volterra?" He asks, snatching the apple away. Giuliano looks affronted for a moment, but shrugs and leans forward to peer out the window.

"I will," he says, "in time. But this will be more interesting than dry numbers about salt trading, no?"

Lorenzo can't argue with that, so both brothers watch as the cart draws closer. The wretch's cries grow in volume, ending each time with a sound like a half-choked sob. There is a crowd that is following the cart, and some of them hurl abuse at the condemned man, while the others stare and gape like gasping fish in a pond. The cart is about fifty feet away now, and they can see the hooded member of the the Black Company stepping in after every pinch with the executioner's tongs to provide what little spiritual comfort he can for the man's soul. Lorenzo thinks the man is far beyond any sort of divine intervention now. What he needs is a good dose of grappa to slide him softly into unconsciousness before the hangman's noose is slipped around his neck.

"By the by," Lorenzo says, just as the cart draws closer to the palazzo, "we must have a talk about your future."

He does not need to look at Giuliano to feel his brother's exasperation. The younger Medici slumps against the windowsill, letting the little puffs of winter air that find their way into the palazzo play with his hair.

"Who is she?" He asks, watching the crowd swell towards the cart, where the man has already fainted from the pain of his burns.

"One of younger daughters of the Sforza," Lorenzo answers, not liking the way Giuliano's shoulders droop with disappointment. "She is a good enough woman, and we will be much honoured by the match."

He waits for a reply, but none is forthcoming. Giuliano simply watches the garish procession draw closer; now the executioner has scooped a handful of snow from the street and is rubbing it on the murderer's chest to rouse him whilst the crowd are baying for his blood. The member from the Black Company is hovering over them both, his expression anxious.

"Well?" Lorenzo arches an eyebrow. "What is your opinion?"

"You know it already."

"No, I do not, because you have not told me! Stop acting like a petulant child!"

Giuliano's eyes flash at him, their hazel-flecked depths full of anger. He turns as if to go, but Lorenzo reaches out and pins him against the windowsill with his arm.

"This match is the best I can make, given our circumstances. The branches of the bank are not faring well without our father's guidance to help them along. You know this. You know how important it is that I secure you a good future."

"I would rather be a priest!" Giuliano hisses, pushing Lorenzo's arm away. "The Sforza girl is barely sixteen and looks like a horse!"

"It is not what you want!" Lorenzo's voice is loud, and it carries. Several of the crowd look askance at the noise, and some point at the palazzo, but both brothers have the sense to move back a little so they will not be seen from the street. "It is not what you want, or what I wish for you. It is what is best for the family. Entering you into the church now is not a good idea. Sixtus thinks only of advancing the rest of his clan."

"Yes." Giuliano's lips settle in a grim line, "Though he preaches as if he has God whispering in his ear every night."

"What else would you expect from a Franciscan?" They both smile a little at this and Lorenzo is relieved to see Giuliano's good humour returning. "I am sorry for pressing you on the matter. If it were different I would gladly let you ride and hunt and fornicate with whomever you like until you were of age. But these times are dangerous, and our position will not be secure until we align ourselves with those who wield influence and power greater than what paltry amount we have here."

"We have enough now, surely?" Giuliano goes to the window, where a few ruffians kick snow at the cart where the murderer has finally regained consciousness. He waves at them, and a gaggle of boys wave back, excited to see one of the Medici brothers. Lorenzo joins him and does the same. A cheer rises from the small crowd, in stark contrast to the muted scream as the tongs are applied to the condemned man again.

"For now. But who knows how long the goodwill of the people will last? All it will take is someone with a grudge against the family, who can speak well enough to gather together a group of men or raise enough money to pay a condotierre and then we might be lost. We must be vigilant, Giuliano. Or else we might both suffer the fate of Galeazzo Maria Sforza."

Giuliano shudders at the thought. Both at the fate of the Duke of Milan and that of his assailants; torn to pieces after they had finished their bloody deed. He looks at Lorenzo, eyeing the deep lines of worry already edged on his brother's face.

"I would not want you struck down by an assassin," he murmurs, cupping Lorenzo's face in his hands and smoothing the lines around his mouth with his thumbs.

"Nor would I," Lorenzo says fiercely, taking hold of Giuliano's wrists. "And I promise you that as long as there is breath in this body I will protect you to the death. That is why we must act now."

"But there must be some other way," Giuliano's voice turns pleading. Lorenzo pictures the small, tear-stained boy of five, who had just fallen off his pony, crying for the comforting embrace of his older brother. "Why must we whore ourselves out to the bastard daughters of every mercenary with even an ounce of royal blood in his veins?"

"I do not ask you to whore yourself out -"

"Not in so many words! But we both know that is what you mean. Why else would our father want you married to Clarice, if not for the prestige of it? Is that not the same? Prostitutes spread their legs for gold and jewels, but we do it and say it is for the good of our family!"

Outside, the cart is slowly trundling away towards the Duomo, where the dome of the cathedral reaches out to heaven, an expression of the city's supreme earthly wealth along with its spiritual hopes of salvation. Giuliano moves to watch its departure, his hair framing his face with its curls, making him appear angelic in the winter light.

"I am sorry," he says, addressing the now empty street. "I know you only mean well. But playing politics with my life is not something that I have the stomach for."

Lorenzo does not say anything for a moment, but watches the cart disappear into the distance. "He must be dead by now, surely. The hangman will have a time of it stringing him up."

Giuliano turns. "Lorenzo -"

"Stop." Lorenzo places a finger on Giuliano's lips. "Do you not know that you are dearer to me than anything else in this world? That I would do anything for you, anything at all to secure your happiness? Have I not always done so? What I ask now is for you to consider the position of our family. We are happy now, but what of our children? And their own children? Florence cannot keep us forever, Giuliano. Our dreams are greater than one city."

His brother frowns.

"You ask me to sacrifice myself on the altar of our family?"

"I am asking you to realise that this cause is on a grander scale than us two." Lorenzo states softly, touching his brother's cheek so that Giuliano looks at him. "We must be strong, Giuliano, so that our house will prosper. If we give in to our own desires now, people will forget our name in half a century, but if we stay the course, ah. Then we will be remembered through the ages."

Uncertainty flickers across Giuliano's face. He leans into Lorenzo's touch, his expression troubled.

"And how will history remember us, Lorenzo? The Medici who fled Florence after gaining its people's love, because it was too small for their ambition?"

"No, the brothers who dared to dream for greater things. The patrons of an enlightened city of poets and artists and philosophers, the likes of which have not been seen since the fall of Rome. They will send us off gladly when one of my sons is made a cardinal. It will be a natural progression."

"You speak of manipulating their opinion."

"They will see it as an honour for the city, without my meddling." Lorenzo smiles reassuringly. "But I cannot do all this on my own. I need you by my side. If you are not with me, then I will not move forward. It is as simple as that."

His fingers curl in Giuliano's hair as he embraces him roughly, pressing a kiss to Giuliano's forehead. They stay like that for several minutes, listening to the beat of each other's hearts. After a pause, Giuliano pulls himself away.

"I hate it when you use your traps against me, brother." But he smiles anyway. "How could I be so selfish as to hold you back?"

"Never," Lorenzo chides. "You have never done that. I will not hear of it."

"As you say," Giuliano turns from the window, and now they can both hear the ringing of the bell from atop the Palazzo della Signoria. The murderer has finally departed this life. "So tell me more about the horse-girl Sforza."

"My own heart!" Lorenzo chuckles. "Perhaps I will find you a Neapolitan princess instead."

"Spaniards." The wrinkle of Giuliano's nose is eloquent. Lorenzo snorts and claps an arm around his brother's shoulders as they walk out of the room.

The sun shines brightly and the sky is clear. Giuliano is laughing, his head thrown back, his happiness in the glory of his youth apparent for all to see.

Lorenzo thinks his brother has never looked more alive.

**Author's Note:**

>   * This fic takes place one year before the [Pazzi Conspiracy ](http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Pazzi)brutally ended Giuliano's short life at the age of 25. A few historians have commented on the unusual fact that at his death, Giuliano's future (either as a priest or being married into a prominent Italian family) had not been assured.  
> 
>   * The Black Company was a lay confraternity established to provide condemned criminals with prayers and spiritual support so that they could have a 'good death' (the violence of the execution notwithstanding) - ie, they would repent of their sins and go to Heaven.  
> 
>   * Sixtus IV (Francesco della Rovere) was pope from 1471-1484. He was aware of and supportive of the Pazzi Conspiracy, only specifying 'let no blood be shed', which was pretty damn impossible.  
> 
>   * The Duke of Milan, Galeazzo Maria Sforza, was murdered in at the cathedral in Milan in 1476. He was widely known to be a tyrant, but the brutality of his assassination was still shocking to most Italians.  
> 
> 



End file.
